


Lonely Nights and Awkward Mornings

by butterflybaby91



Series: It's History to Me [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken hookup, F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybaby91/pseuds/butterflybaby91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Friday night and Eponine is tired of Disney movies and her couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Nights and Awkward Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> This happens earlier than the other one-shots.

You usually spend Friday nights with Marius. But ever since he met Cosette, he has been blowing you off and your Friday nights have involved you sitting alone in your apartment, solo drinking (which is _never_ a good thing), watching Disney movies, and eating s’mores made in your microwave. And it’s getting fucking lonely.

This Friday was no different than the last several. You get a text from Marius around 5 p.m.

_Sorry to leave you hanging again ‘Ponine, but Cosette just invited me to have dinner with her and her father and I just can’t say no to that—her father will hate me regardless_

You had not expected anything less than a dismissal this evening, but it still hurts as you respond:

_No problem. Hey why don’t we just consider our usual Friday nights cancelled from here on out—I know you’d rather be hanging out with Cosette during your free time and I don’t blame you :)_

His reply is quick and painful:

 _But then when am I supposed to have my ‘Ponine time? Don’t worry I promise I will be able to make it one of these weeks_.

Was he trying to rip your heart out?

With a scream you throw your phone across the room, not even caring that it smashes into the wall and falls to the ground with a worrisome thud. It is probably broken, but what do you care—Marius might not be able to get a hold of you anymore that way.

Tears start falling down your cheeks as you sit there thinking about how lonely you are and how you would kill to be in Cosette’s place. But what are you kidding? You will never be Cosette, with her perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect everything.

But thinking about Cosette makes your sick to your stomach. So you end up grabbing the bottle of vodka and a mug and pouring yourself a big cup of the vile stuff. You are wincing at every sip, but halfway through your mug’s worth of liquor it stops tasting bad and you stop feeling bad.

After that, one thing leads to another and you end up crying downstairs on Grantaire’s door frame as you knock loud enough to wake the dead, or at least the neighbors. He opens after a while and he looks quite out of it himself. But when he sees you standing there, obviously drunk and crying, you are in his arms in a flash. He is rubbing your back and murmuring smoothing things as he pulls you into his apartment and onto his couch.

“Hey there,” he mumbles, trying to be there for you even though he is barely there himself, “What’s wrong?”

All you have to do is sputter, “Marius,” and he just gripes you tighter.

“Is a bastard,” he tacks onto your statement and you choke out a laugh through your tears, “Come on let’s watch a movie,” he says as he pulls you into his lap and turns you around so you can face the television. He does not bother getting up to put in a disc, but just sees what is playing on television.

After settling on some crappy made-for-TV movie you both settle into each other with your head pressed up against his chest, tucked under his chin, and his arms snuggly around you. The smell of alcohol emanating off both your breaths’ is intense and would overpower anyone else, but both of you can handle alcohol pretty well.

Not tonight though. You were both pretty wasted before you got here and now Grantaire is still sipping out of a bottle of rum and sharing it with you, so it is not completely surprising that in a half an hour, the movie is forgotten and your are lying under him on the couch with his lips attacking yours.

It is as he is picking you up to take you to his bedroom that he somehow finds the forethought to ask, as you wrap your legs around his waist, barely breaking contact with your lips, “Is this okay?”

You nod furiously against his lips. You are too drunk to really care and it is _Grantaire_ so it won’t be too weird in the morning—plus you just want to forget. Apparently your nod is enough to convince him that this may be a good idea because the next thing you know you are both laying on his bed and clothes are being peeled off and big and small hands are mingling together on bare skin. He whispers your name several times throughout and it is nice to feel wanted for once, you think as you fall asleep afterwards, tangled in his arms, warm and comfortable.

The sun streaming in through the window in the morning is what wakes you. Groaning, you turn over to blindly grope for the bottle of aspirin that you keep on the table next to your bed just for mornings like this. Your eyes are startled open when you do not find the table next to your bed and instead your hand connects with warm flesh. Finding Grantaire lying next to you and finding yourself in his bed, and worse, naked, you scream, which of course wakes him.

“What is it? Who’s there?” He yells leaping out of bed and punching the air around him without opening his eyes. When his fists do not connect with anything, he stops and opens his eyes blearily looking around. He jumps a little when he sees you lying in his bed, face bright red, but then his face matches yours as realization hits him. “Oh,” he stutters, “We…” he trails off looking at you sheepishly.

“Yeah…” You groan, “Sorry ‘bout screaming, I was just startled,” you apologize, “To be fair, I still don’t really remember how this,” you gesture from him back to the bed, “happened.”

He is shaking his head, “I don’t really either, sorry. I do remember it though, now” he is grinning now and you groan again.

“It didn’t mean anything okay? We were just both drunk,” you half yell as you climb out of the bed and start searching for your clothes.

As you are pulling on your pants he comes up behind you and whispers in your ear, “Keep telling yourself that mon Cherie,” as he plants a kiss on the side of your neck.

You jump and turn to see him grinning wickedly at you, “I’m leaving,” you declare as you move away from him toward the door. When you are practically in the hallway you stop and look back in his direction, “Thanks though,” you say and then hurriedly add, “Not for this,” you nod once again toward the bed, “But for letting me cry here and yeah everything…” you let your voice fall off and then spin around and head down the hallway, “See you later!” you yell, trying to be nonchalant as you leave and praying that he never mentions this again. 


End file.
